


when I feel so tired, my soul dies, you kiss me back to life

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: All I Need [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Scars, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Jon has been away for over a fortnight. Sansa runs to his chambers as soon as she receives word of his return.Written for Day 2 of 31 Days of Jonsa -  ScarsTitle from 'Scars' by Stan Van Samang





	when I feel so tired, my soul dies, you kiss me back to life

Jon was finally back home. Sansa's heart leapt up at the thought. She put her needlework aside, smoothed out her skirts and checked her braid in the looking glass on her vanity.

As she was tucking a couple of stray strands behind her ear, she shook her head at her own silliness. It didn't matter what she looked like.

As she left her chambers to cross the hallway, an odd giddiness overtook her, fluttering in the pit of her stomach. By the time she arrived at Jon's door, her heart was beating faster and her breathing had become a bit more shallow.

She raised her hand to knock, resisting the urge to fuss with her hair or bite her lip as she waited for him to answer the door.

When he appeared in the doorway, his curls were loose and tousled, a light crease etched between his eyebrows until his eyes found hers and a cautious smile started tugging at his lips.

Forgetting about propriety and all other inhibitions, she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. "I've missed you," she whispered.

He chuckled, his hands coming up to rub her neck and the small of her back. "I haven't been gone that long," he quipped. "But I've missed you, too."

She released him and he moved to close the door behind her. As he turned around again, she could feel her cheeks heating as she realized he was only wearing his breeches. Her eyes tried not to linger on his bare shoulders and arms, until they were drawn to the large jagged scars on chest and stomach.

 

Sansa's eyes widened as she took in his scars. "Oh, Jon!" she whispered.

She didn't need to see him like this. He didn't want to remind her of what he was. He twisted his torso, looking for his tunic, but she caught his hand. He stopped, allowing her to put a soft hand over his heart.

She traced the shape of the largest scar with a delicate finger. "Does it hurt?" she asked softly.

"Not anymore."

Her eyes were following the movement of her hand, but they were glistening with unshed tears. She pulled her lips in, before licking them.

"I've upset you," he muttered.

She glanced up at him. "I can't imagine the pain..."

Olly's face flashed in front of his mind's eye and he felt his head starting to spin, the darkness pulling at his consciousness. He grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little too roughly, and pulled it away from his chest. "I- I don't want- I can't talk about it," he choked out. 

She covered his hand with her free one and smiled, as if she understood. "It's all right," she told him, gently peeling his fingers away from around her wrist. 

Undaunted she reached out again and caressed his scars. He sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes as his stomach rippled under her touch. He wondered whether she could hear his thunderous heartbeat.

She leaned in to press her lips to the scar over his heart. He shivered, opening his eyes to find a pretty blush colouring her cheeks. He averted his eyes, trying not to dwell on how much he ached to feel her lips again.

She was looking at her feet, mumbling: "I-There's something I need to show you." Her hands flew to the side of her dress and she started unlacing it.

His breath hitched. "Sansa, what...?" He let his question trail off, impeded by his dry mouth.

Her eyes were determined when they met his. She let her dress drop until it pooled at her feet and stepped out of it. She turned around as her hands worked at the lacings of her shift, and let it fall down far enough to reveal the expanse of her back, her arms crossed over her chest to hold the front up.

Her entire back was littered with lines and ridges, some shallow and silvery white, others bumpy and red. There was no logic or pattern to them, it was just a disarray of scars, a chaos that didn't belong on her otherwise unblemished ivory skin.

 

She could only guess what his face looked like as he took in the scars on her back, but she did hear his gasp. She felt him step closer. He took her braid and draped it over her left shoulder. His breath fanned out against her neck.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "If I could, I'd bring him back, just so I could kill him again for you."

His voice trembled with affection and fury, and she wondered what she would see in his eyes, if she were to turn around now.

He put his hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting, and smoothed his fingers down to the neckline of her shift and then up again. He turned his hand and brushed his knuckles from shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed under his touch.

She didn't want him to stop. She wanted to lean into his touch, so he'd wrap his arms around her. She craved to feel his lips on her neck and his nose in her hair, just like the morning when he'd left. She needed that warm hand on her belly and on her hip again.

She wished he would tell her he wanted to touch her. The shame and guilt were stirring somewhere in the back of her mind, but she ignored them. Much more troubling was the fear that she'd imagined all of it, that she'd only dreamed about him whispering her name.

She sighed and pulled her shift up, fastening the lacings as she turned to face him. "I have more,"' she told him. "On my belly, and on my bottom."

His eyes were dark and unreadable, his jaw clenched. 

"There's-" She couldn't tell him, she couldn't force herself to relive how it had become so ugly. "Come, I'll show you." She walked over to the bed, sitting down on the chest at the foot of it.

 

He stared at her expectant face, beckoning him to follow. He closed the gap between them and she took his hand, pulling him down to his knees.

She reached for the hem of her shift and hiked it up, spreading her legs. He wanted to flee from his position between her open thighs. He wanted to look and touch, cursing himself for being such a sick bastard.

And then he saw what she was trying to show him. High up on the inside of her right thigh was a puce mark. It was larger and more grotesque than all the ones on her back. He didn't want to imagine how it had become like that. 

Tentatively he curled a hand around her knee, glancing up at her tense face. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Not anymore," she repeated his own answer from earlier, her voice cracking.

His grip on her knee tightened. He slid his hand up her leg, desperate to comfort her, but falling short on any ideas. All he could think of doing was what she'd done for him earlier.

His eyes dropped to her soft and slender creamy thigh.  _I shouldn't do this,_ a weak voice inside him objected. But he was only trying to comfort her.

He inclined his head and pressed his lips to her scar. He could feel the difference between the edge of it and her normal skin. His lips lingered too long, his hand held on too tightly.

He braced himself to pull away, but then he made the mistake of taking a deep breath and he realised he could smell her.

 

Her hand flew up, her fingers twining into his hair. She wasn't sure if she wanted to keep him there or push him away. She only knew she needed some control. She wanted to beg him to do it again, but she feared that would be pushing him too far.

They weren't doing anything truly untoward, but if anyone were to walk in right now, they'd find themselves in an extremely compromising position. She didn't want to ponder on how she'd become so desperate for a sweet touch, she was letting her half-brother kiss her so close to her most intimate place. She only wanted to feel, and having Jon touch her in any way felt good.

His fingers were digging into the flesh of her thigh and when their eyes met, his were almost entirely black. She'd seen that look in a man's eyes before, but a shiver ran down her spine at the intensity of it. It was almost enough to make her gasp.

He let go of her, and her hand dropped from his hair. He pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand to help her up.

"I'm tired," he announced, looking at his feet. 

She nodded, resisting the urge to hug her own arms at the sudden chill she felt. Acting on impulse, she decided she could be bold and stepped forward to throw her arms around his neck. 

For a moment he went rigid, but then he returned her embrace.

"I'm so glad you're back," she sighed.

"So am I," he answered, but his voice sounded strained.

 

 


End file.
